


Dead Things

by Life_giver



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 08:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18007769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Life_giver/pseuds/Life_giver
Summary: There was a boy with blood on his chin. He stood in the mirror, porcelain white and very, very dead. Daniel glanced at the jagged reflection, noting how the crack in the mirror split the boy’s face in half, and half of that face had a sinister smile on it.“Daniel, the music is still playing.”





	Dead Things

 

 

There was a boy with blood on his chin. He stood in the mirror, porcelain white and very, very dead. Daniel glanced at the jagged reflection, noting how the crack in the mirror split the boy’s face in half, and half of that face had a sinister smile on it.

“Daniel, the music is still playing.”

It was one in the morning, an hour before closing time and some dark, familiar voice crooned in the background of this fucked up scene. He recognized the voice, but he’d had two lines already and everything sounded like it was underwater. He couldn’t be sure of anything right now. The edges of his vision were black as Armand’s face appeared over his shoulder, a white thing coming from the shadows, the boogeyman under his bed. It was his own blood on Armand’s chin, a little drink stolen from the dancefloor as the mortals writhed around them in their drugged stupor.

“Another?” Armand offered.

There was a white substance on the edge of Armand’s thumb as he lifted it to Daniel’s cheek. In the mirror, Armand smiled, or did he? Every movement was slowed, unreal. He wasn’t even sure this moment was real. Armand with his endless supply of wealth, kept the pleasure coming, if only so that he could take his own pleasure, a small drink at a time when Daniel was too wasted to protest. Would he deny him if he were sober?  

The bouncer had pushed on Armand’s shoulder when they had first tried entering the club, a mistake he would regret. Daniel had been sure Armand was going to leave a corpse in the alleyway, his dead brown eyes glancing up at the bouncer, small smile at the corner of his mouth. The bouncer had been at least a foot taller than Armand’s slight form, but Daniel knew fear when he saw it.

“Too young,” the bouncer had announced. "Where's your ID?" and Armand’s laughter was chilling. Every sound, every gesture that came from his preternatural stalker was unnatural, it made a person look twice; it made the hair stand up at the back of the neck.  A person knew when something wasn’t quite _right._

“We could go home if you prefer.”

“Wipe your chin,” The words came out as a growl and he watched as Armand smiled, the edge of his hand brushing at his chin, cleaning away his blood and leaving a morbid smear of red.

“I quite liked the music.”

Armand’s thumb brushed against his nose and he inhaled. The hit traveled through his body and he unconsciously leaned back against the solid marble behind him. “You would,” He murmured, tilted his head back against Armand’s shoulder, feeling Armand's fingers at his neck. There was a dangerous pulse of pressure, a warning that Armand could snap his neck any time he wished.

Armand liked to keep him in this state, too weak to protest, too hungry not to kneel at his feet. Armand’s breath smelled of alcohol as he tilted Daniel’s face towards him, cupid lips brushing the corner of his mouth. He was so cold. The alcohol was all Daniel, everything, every substance, every emotion, every sensation was always Daniel. Armand fed off of him like a ravenous succubus, desperate to feel every human emotion he possibly could. And Daniel was helpless to resist helping him to _remember._

“Your taste in music is shit,” He muttered, parting his lips for the tip of Armand’s tongue. He felt the tilt of full lips, felt the laughter.

“The Cure isn’t shit,” Armand reprimanded and Daniel’s eyes rolled back, more from the drug running rampant through his system than Armand’s ridiculous interest in modern pop culture.

“I saw someone you would like.” Armand’s breath was hot against his cheek, and he felt the sin down to his fucking toes as Armand’s tongue curled against the corner of his mouth. He tasted iron on his tongue, not wholly his own.

“What if I don’t want someone else?”

Armand laughed, a puff of breath as he dropped his head into Daniel’s neck. Deep brown eyes glanced up at him through the cracked mirror, deceptively innocent.

“It’s the only way.”

“It isn’t though.” He surprised himself by reaching back and burying his thin fingers in soft red curls, pulling the slightest bit until Armand resisted, pulling away from him.

“I could fuck you.”

When was the last time someone had pushed Armand’s face into a bed and fucked him raw? It seemed the sort of thing he had done when he was warm and alive once upon a time. There was nothing soft and pliant in his stone Antinous.

Armand’s gaze flickered over his face in the mirror, but gave no other indication that he had even heard what Daniel had said. “You said you couldn’t sleep with me, but that’s not the whole truth is it? There are other ways.” Something in him wanted to drive his cock into Armand just as Armand always drove his fucking deadly teeth into his neck every chance he got. Why couldn’t there be a little give and take between them? This wasn’t quite a relationship, but he spent more time with Armand than he did anyone else in his fucked up life, mostly out of necessity. It was hard to run from an immortal creature intent on following his every step. That counted for something didn’t it?

The room tilted, and Armand easily held him up. He’d taken too much blow. His body threatened to sink to the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. Armand pushed him back against the jagged mirror behind him, too roughly so that he winced in pain. He had probably put another crack in the damn thing.

“Is that what you really want?”

It wasn’t. They both knew what he truly wanted, but Armand was playing a game for one. A game that left him dead in the street at the end of it. The music pulsed louder as the bathroom door was thrown wide. Someone sidled up to the urinal next to them but still Armand held him against the mirror, his small fingers bruising his shoulders. Little Antinous playing God. He poked his tongue into the corner of his mouth, tasting his own blood there. His body was riddled with holes, both literally and figuratively.

He felt a gaze burning into the side of his face, heard the sound of piss hitting the urinal but he was intent on the way Armand’s face looked perfectly still, a caricature of a human face. He was a fucking living doll and Daniel wanted nothing more than to put a crack in him the way Armand had done to the mirror digging into his back. A chill crept down the back of his neck. Did Armand realize how fucking inhuman he always looked?

“When’s the last time?” He blurted out and Armand’s fingers dug tighter into his shoulder, his mouth twitching at the corner.

“My master threw me to a brothel,” Armand admitted and Daniel tilted his head, surprised at the admittance. “When all I wanted was his dead cock inside me.”

“I didn’t know he was an animate corpse at the time,” Armand muttered without emotion,  fingers drifting from his shoulder to his Adam's apple. Fingers stroked his neck almost lovingly. “I wouldn’t have cared.”

“Do you care?” Armand asked, tilting his head like a little boy asking why the sky was blue.

He’d let a corpse run his life for months. What harm would it do to sleep with it? He’d dreamed about it, holding Armand down, pressing his pretty face into something hard,  inflicting just a little of the pain he felt daily. He wanted his hands full of red curls, his fingerprints bruised into Armand’s marble flesh. Could he bruise like a human?

The bathroom was empty again and he glanced at the stall next to them. He wasn’t sure he could wait until they’d gotten home, by then Armand would have probably changed his mind. He was unpredictable that way. God, this was a child with centuries worth of life and knowledge inside of him and all he could think about was taking another line and pressing Armand’s face against a bathroom stall. He was human to his very core. Was that why Armand hesitated to share his gift? He proved himself the pitiful junkie nightly, unable to run his own life, and so he let an immortal take it over and attempt to drive him to an early grave. He was disgustingly made of flesh and bone.

“Sex,” Armand whispered against his cheek. “So human. It’s all you think about isn’t it?” Sex and drugs, it ruled him. Pleasure was better than the routine numbness he usually felt.

They were through the stall door and Armand had locked it before Daniel could blink. Armand’s teeth were small needles against his neck, his doll mouth latching on and tugging until Daniel swayed, body rocking back against the bathroom stall and rattling it. The space was so small they could both barely fit into it and yet Armand sucked and Daniel felt his life being tugged with each swallow. His cocked swelled between them and Armand pressed his slender hips against it, teeth diving deeper. This was sex in itself, but still Daniel needed something more carnal, something more _human._

“Fuck,” The word escaped his lips just as Armand’s teeth withdrew. He saw lights at the edges of his vision, his body thrummed with life, with a sensation he only felt when Armand decided to feed on him. Armand’s eyes looked black in the low-light, his chin red. He was certain Armand had a kink for feeding messily, maybe it made him feel more like the animal he truly was. This was unnatural and immoral, and he loved every moment of it.

“The blood,” He whispered hoarsely. “Give it to me.”

“I thought you wanted to fuck me.” There was laughter in Armand’s voice, and when he opened his eyes to slits, Armand’s mocking face wavered in his vision. That, he wanted that too. But why couldn’t he have the blood as well? Armand’s face split into two, the way it had in the mirror, half smiling, half scowling, and a shudder wracked his wasting body. He was dying, didn’t Armand know? Did he care?

This was all a sick game.

Red wine dripped down a porcelain chin, and Daniel swiped a hand out, reaching, reaching, until Armand relented. Positions were swiftly switched so that Daniel’s world spun and suddenly Armand’s face was pressed against the bathroom stall next to someone named Samantha and her sharpied number. For a good time, call her. Call Armand and he would let you fuck him and then he’d drain the life from your pathetic, drug-wasted body. That seemed a better deal in Daniel’s hazy mind.

His cock was in Armand’s hand, and Armand guided him like someone who had done this a million times before, and he probably had in some long-dead century, the little Italian whore in silk tights. He saw candles when his cock slid in. Candles and blonde hair, and red velvet. Fuck, he hadn’t wanted a play by play of Armand’s sexual life before him. His teeth were against Armand’s neck and salt was in his mouth. When had he bitten down?

_Do you care?_

He slid a hand against Armand’s cupid mouth though he knew the voice was all in his head, a deathly lullaby. He felt the warm puff of breath against his palm and swore under his breath as he drove in deep. A sting and then wetness against his palm was his only warning and yet he kept pushing, holding Armand against the bathroom stall as if he were some human boy, getting cock for the very first time. A grunt was the only indication that whatever Daniel was doing effected Armand in any way. Armand felt nothing, he knew that, but Armand could at least pretend when Daniel’s own pleasure was building, an incredible warmth in his stomach. He wrapped his hand around red curls and tugged until Armand’s head was thrown back. His face glinted in the greenish light of the bathroom stall, more from his own blood that Armand had drank. Armand couldn’t sweat, he’d learned that long ago.  Armand was full of his blood, bloated with it.

“Fuck,” he cursed, thrusting harder, pushing Armand flat against the stall, rattling it with the violence. One of Armand’s hands clawed against the sprawled graffiti and pleasure exploded in Daniel. He was fucking something dead, and it was the most alive he had ever felt.

_Is this what you wanted?_

Fuck yes. It was all he had ever wanted besides the blood, and that was something Armand harbored jealously. At least he could have this; Armand pretending to be human, getting fucked in a dirty bathroom stall by a guy rolling high on the white cloud. Was this the type of future Armand had envisioned when Marius had brought him into the blood? He laughed at that, and Armand twisted his head, cold brown eyes fixing on him as his body was rocked rhythmically, red curls bouncing lewdly. There was no pleasure in that gaze, only an icy chill that Daniel couldn’t feel as he strived for nirvana.

_What are you laughing at, junkie boy?_

_Fucking a dead thing._

_You’re just as dead as I am._

And he was, so very dead. He’d signed his death certificate the moment Armand had walked into his life. He hadn’t slept in five months, had been living on the cigarettes and blow Armand threw at him for sustenance, payment for the blood he stole. He was a walking corpse, same as Armand.

When he came, it was pressed against Armand’s lithe back, and he felt the last bit of his life sliding down between Armand’s spread thighs. Marius had never had that part of him at least, hadn’t been capable of it. He smiled against the slight curve of Armand’s shoulder in a pathetically small triumph. There was something good to being human after all.

_Fuck you_ , was the answer.

“No,” He hissed against the curve of Armand’s ear. “Fuck you.” When he slid out, Armand became the mechanical doll he always was. He’d felt nothing, it was obvious as he pulled his baggy clothes back into place and regarded Daniel with the same open, cold curiosity he always did.

“Was that enough?” Armand asked, brown eyes tilted up to him.

_Never._

Armand knew what he wanted and yet he couldn’t give up the game. There was new blood against Armand’s chin again. He was so like a chaotic child that couldn’t eat his food without creating a mess. He must have been biting down on his own hand as Daniel fucked him, trying to gather the very last bit of Daniel’s essence running through his veins.

“Wipe your chin,” He muttered, but this time Armand gave him a jagged smile.

“Wipe that smile off your face,” Armand countered, pushing him aside and unlocking the stall.

Armand was gone in seconds, leaving the space in the stall smelling of stale blood. It made Daniel sick to his stomach, that iron stench. There was a chill in his body as he stumbled from the stall and wiped at the cold blood settling against his neck in a sticky mess. He could feel the puncture wounds closing slowly as his palm passed over them. Armand had drawn his tongue over the area earlier on the dance floor after taking the little drink. Not quite dead yet, but he knew it wouldn’t be long.

Armand loved a good a chase.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while I was drunk on red wine and listening to The Cure. I’m so very sorry.


End file.
